In the high glass tower of DRACO’s corporate offices in Moscow, Belial sat at his desk reviewing a promotional video showcasing the new generation of energy technology. His appearance was immaculate: blond hair neatly parted to the side, pale blue eyes typical of the metamorphic demons of the Kuhr steppes, and black, hipster-style frames resting on his nose. He wore a modern-cut navy-blue suit that suited his tall, slender figure perfectly.

  In stark contrast sat his colleague at a desk on the far end of the office: the demon Baphomet, who was everything Belial was not. Baphomet was sloppy and unkempt. His hair, blond like Belial’s, was cut into a crude bowl shape with a greasy little quiff, as if someone had placed a plate on his head and trimmed whatever stuck out. It was perpetually oily and damp with sweat. His clothes were no better—always stained with traces of food.

  The desks reflected their owners. Belial’s was pristine and perfectly ordered; Baphomet’s was a chaotic sprawl of papers.

  Both were direct assistants to the demoness Lilith Tannenberg, secretary to DRACO’s CEO, and in accordance with the ancient traditions of the demonkind exiled from Kuhr, they owed fealty to the great prince Vladimir Ivannovich Merkel.

  That afternoon, Belial was—as always—busy preparing materials for the upcoming investors’ meeting when Baphomet suddenly burst into laughter. The ruddy demon removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly exhausted.

  “What are you laughing at?” Belial asked after a tired yawn.

  Baphomet laughed a couple more times before replying, “A video someone uploaded… a guy tried to rob an old woman and she had a seizure.”

  “That doesn’t sound funny,” Belial said flatly.

  “Watch it. It happened in Slovenia,” Baphomet replied. “It’s on Facebook. I sent it to you.”

  “Thanks,” Belial said. “But I don’t have time—”

  “Watch it,” Baphomet insisted.

  “No.”

  “WATCH IT!”

  Belial sighed in irritation, picked up his device, and opened Facebook to see the infamous video of the day. Indeed, an elderly woman collapsed as a thug attempted to mug her. Belial dismissed it almost immediately and scrolled to the news section, which was filled with Slovenian headlines.

  One link caught his attention. He clicked it and read:

  “Near the Italian border, on a rural road commonly used by smugglers in the vicinity of Nova Gorica, a compact vehicle was found containing a charred body. According to documents recovered from the wreckage, the disfigured remains have been identified as belonging to a U.S. citizen named Victor Walder…”

  After reading, Belial instinctively scratched the tip of his nose, as he always did when thinking.

  “Baph?” he asked, staring at the screen.

  “Yes?” Baphomet replied, eyes glued to his smartphone as he ate a doughnut.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “The academic we were looking for… wasn’t his name Victor Walder?” Belial asked.

  “As far as I know, yeah—that was the guy,” Baphomet said.

  “Well, Victor Walder turned up,” Belial said slowly. “Dead. In Slovenia.”

  “Oh yeah,” Baphomet replied casually. “Totally roasted near the Italian border.”

  “You knew this and didn’t say anything?” Belial asked, stunned.

  Baphomet shrugged. “Nobody asked.”

  “And how did they identify him?”

  “His passport.”

  “Lilith needs to know about this,” Belial said, rising from his chair.

  Baphomet didn’t even look up, continuing to watch absurd Eastern European videos. A moment later, he burst into laughter again, his massive belly jiggling as a dashcam video showed a livestock truck overturning, flinging terrified animals across the highway.

  Meanwhile, Belial reached the glass door of Lilith’s office across the hall. She was on the phone. He opened the door silently and entered.

  The office was minimalist, positioned at the corner of the corporate tower. Two walls were floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Moscow, which at that moment appeared white and desolate, battered by a polar storm beneath a heavy, overcast sky.

  Belial stood silently before Lilith’s desk as she continued a teleconference with the Cardinal. Her face looked carved from marble—expressionless. Her blond hair was pulled into a tight bun, with two loose strands framing her temples, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. A nose as keen as a scimitar supported black, fashionable hipster frames, behind which glimmered violet-blue eyes—like Belial’s and Baphomet’s, the hallmark of Kuhr’s exiled demonkind—though hers were utterly devoid of emotion.

  Her desk overflowed with folders and documents. In one corner, a plaque read:

  “Lilith Tannenberg, Secretary, CEO”

  She listened with visible irritation. When she noticed Belial, she turned toward him. He gestured that he would wait. Lilith narrowed her eyes, then said into the phone:

  “I understand your situation, Cardinal. But Merkel’s orders are clear—no resources are to be allocated that could compromise DRACO.”

  “No resources?” the Cardinal snapped from the other end. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Isn’t having a fugitive Pope who might open his mouth enough to compromise DRACO?”

  “He hasn’t done so—yet,” Lilith replied calmly.

  “Oh, wonderful,” the Cardinal scoffed. “Then I’ll just sit on my hands and wait until it’s announced with pomp and platinum fanfare.”

  “Cardinal, that’s different,” Lilith said flatly.

  “Oh? Then you’re contradicting yourself. You won’t spend resources to find him, but you care very much if he shows up,” the Cardinal retorted.

  “Let’s drop the theatrics,” Lilith snapped. “I would like to help you, Cardinal, but my hands are tied. Merkel was clear—everyone must do their job with the resources they already have. I’m sorry.”

  “Fine,” the Cardinal barked. “Don’t give me resources. But at least do something for me—help me get rid of Cardinal Vergolo.”

  “Get rid of him… as in kill him?” Lilith asked, surprised.

  “Interpret it however you like. I want him out of my sight and somewhere he can’t cause damage.”

  “I’ll need to consult Merkel. That would be opening Pandora’s box.”

  The Cardinal exploded in fury and hung up.

  Lilith stared at the receiver, lips pressed tight, then replaced it.

  “That filthy pig,” she muttered. “He wants us to do his dirty work. He’s an idiot—I don’t know why Merkel tolerates him.”

  Belial nodded, cleared his throat, and said, “Lilith… we have a bigger problem. They found the body of a man named Victor Walder at the Slovenian border.”

  Lilith stared at him, stunned.

  “Dead? In Slovenia?” she asked.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “But… what about what the hunters told us? They said he died in the San Onofre accident—”

  “The article says he was found at the Slovenian border.”

  Lilith could hardly believe what she was hearing. Belial stepped to her computer, typed in keywords, and pulled up the article. Lilith read it silently.

  “This must be a mistake,” she muttered. “A damn mistake.”

  “I hope it is,” Belial said. “Because if it isn’t… we’re in serious trouble.”

  “Shit. Just what we needed,” Lilith whispered. “This is catastrophic.”

  “And it won’t be easy to explain to Merkel,” Belial added.

  Lilith clutched her head, then slowly removed her glasses. She inhaled deeply and looked at Belial.

  “Call those two idiots in,” she said in a hollow voice.